


Spies and Tailors and Dragons, Oh My!

by TheSilverQueen



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Wings, Harry Hart Being a Drama Queen, Harry Hart Lives, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-25 04:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12028305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverQueen/pseuds/TheSilverQueen
Summary: Because Harry Hart is a drama queen, he crashes his own bloody funeral with a parachute and an open rainmaker and a great big eye patch, like some sort of pirate Mary Poppins drifting down to grace the mortals with her presence.





	Spies and Tailors and Dragons, Oh My!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlareWarrior](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlareWarrior/gifts).



> This is my contribution to the Kingsman Secret Santa for [FlareWarrior](http://flarewarrior.tumblr.com/) who goes by the same handle on AO3! The prompt I chose was: "Harry crashes his own funeral. People are generally angry, except for Eggsy, who runs up and leaps into his arms for the most Disney kiss anyone's seen in real life. They weren't together" but they also added a tag for "mythical beings & creatures" and "wings" soooooo I went a little overboard. Just a little. 
> 
> I drew further inspiration from this fic from [this cute dragon hoard art](http://thesilverqueenlady.tumblr.com/post/151057390854/modern-day-dragons-hiding-among-us) and [cute fruit dragon art](http://thesilverqueenlady.tumblr.com/post/165099356879/flarewarrior-nerdyydragon-miladyaelin) that I found on other people's tumblrs lol.
> 
> To FlareWarrior, you are a true treasure in our fandom and I nearly fell off my chair when I got my assignment for you. Thank you for letting me go nuts with fantasy stuff in your fic.

They hold the funeral for Harry Hart on a Sunday. Mostly this is because it is the soonest Merlin could spare all the agents who wished to attend the funeral, whether in person or by glasses, but it is also because it is first day enough graves had been dug for the bodies of those the Kingsman had lost in the carnage. 

The Kingsman ask for everything from their members, so it was only fitting, Merlin had said, that they honored those who made the sacrifice with everything the Kingsman could accomplish.

Except those who had died due to being traitors and Valentine plants. Those Merlin had . . . well, Eggsy’s not really sure what he had done, but it had involved 15 cups of tea, four computers, three screens and the most manic expression he had ever seen on Merlin’s face. Roxy had taken one look, drugged his last cup of tea, and dragged him off protesting to bed. Eggsy had looked woefully at the mess left behind and started cleaning.

The end result is that there is an entirely new section of the Kingsman graveyard, Merlin no longer has bags under his eyes that threaten to swallow his face, and Eggsy has learned exactly what brands of tea and biscuits that Merlin prefers. A mixed bag, but by today’s standards Eggsy will take what he can get.

It rains, because of course it does: this is London, it’s the climax of their dramatic adventure, and they work for a bloody spy agency. On the plus side, Merlin just sighs and lets Eggsy check the extra Rainmaker out of the armory, so Eggsy – like every other Kingsman agent on the premises – turns up as a sharply dressed arsenal. The rest are some support staff, some of Harry’s civilian friends and neighbors, and some agents from other agencies. Eggsy’s sure that most of them are fellow spies, because they move like trained agents even if they don’t bother trying to pull any of the typical blend-into-the-background maneuvers. 

On the downside, Eggsy has no idea who the person giving Harry’s eulogy is and it’s the most boring speech he’s ever heard. Even for a person who was supposedly a tailor, it’s so dry that he finds himself playing around with the options on his new Kingsman glasses.

This, he will forever tell anyone, is why he misses the dramatic entrance.

Because Harry bloody Hart crashes his own damn funeral. And because he’s a drama queen, he does so with a parachute and an open rainmaker and a great big eye patch, like some sort of pirate Mary Poppins drifting down to grace the mortals with her presence. By later accounts, Kay nearly blows his head off, Merlin actually does shoot him in the chest, and the speaker falls off the stage, but Eggsy hears all of this from Roxy secondhand, because once the guns go off he looks up and, well.

Harry’s not the only one who can do dramatic entrances.

In the video footage that a smirking Roxy later shows him, Eggsy apparently turns his rainmaker into a pole vault and _flings_ himself forward, dodging scattering people and alarmed agents in order to jump onto the stage and barrel straight into Harry. Harry, not expecting the sudden increase in weight, falls off the stage and Eggsy goes with him, and by the time Roxy and Merlin make it over, Eggsy is kissing the life out of Harry on the ground, getting mud all over their suits.

That is just in the video footage though.

Eggsy does not remember vaulting over bodies and obstacles with his rainmaker. He does not remember pushing his fellow agents and attendees out of the way. He does not even remember slamming into Harry with the force of a speeding truck and pinning him to the ground.

He does, however, remember the way Harry had looked at him: the way his eyes had widened, the way his mouth had trembled, the way his shoulders had gone stiff. He remembers the way Harry had laid limp beneath him, not even trying to fight back, willing to accept anything Eggsy might thrown at him. And he remembers the way Harry had kissed him back, as if he hadn’t gotten a second chance at life and V-Day was happening around them right now, desperate and painful and disbelieving, hands a crushing pressure on Eggsy’s shoulders.

(Merlin calls him a romantic. Roxy papers Harry’s new office with printouts of the kiss and Eggsy frames it for their house.)

Either way, with Harry’s return, Percival – the next most senior agent – dodges the bullet that is the Arthur seat with, according to Roxy, lots of cackling and skipping. Merlin puts a giant crown on Harry’s head and an even bigger sword in his hand, and so a resigned Harry spends much of his first day back holding ceremonies, talking to other Kingsman branch heads, and accepting commiserations and congratulations from other agents. Eggsy, meanwhile, kips out on his sofa and takes a well-deserved nap after securing a promise from Harry for answers.

When Harry wakes him up and drags him to the bowels of the Kingsman labs for said answers, it turns out to be a great thing that Eggsy napped.

“What do you mean, you’re a bloody dragon?!”

* * *

The thing is: the Kingsman have never just been Kings _man_. To key to becoming a Kingsman is the willingness to sacrifice everything one might ever have to join their ranks, and while blood rituals have long since faded into the past, the fact remains that blood is still shed. As a matter of fact, each candidate loses at least three vials of blood for extensive testing. Three is a valuable number to the Kingsman. There are three strokes to the K that is their symbol and their calling card. There are three branches in the organization: the King, the agents, and the support staff. There are three tests of loyalty during training, and failing any one of them is grounds for immediate dismissal.

The thing is: three is not just valuable to humans. Three was the sacred number of the Greeks for the three sons of Kronos, the three Fates, the three-headed Hydra. Three was the sacred number of the Christians, for the Holy Spirit and the Holy Father and the Holy Son. And although few would remember, three was the sacred number for the creatures who called the world home long before the humans rose to power: the Fae and the unicorns and the dragons. Their blood rituals, though long forgotten, are powerful, and blood is only the first of three ingredients.

The thing is: the dragons of old were powerful and long-lived and nigh on indestructible. Their scales could not be pierced with magic or steel alone. Their fire was hot enough to melt through all but the strongest wards and fortresses. Their wings allowed them to conquer the skies and the lands and the seas. Even one dragon was enough to make all but the strongest of the Fae pause before taking them on.

* * *

Harry, because he’s Harry, just smiles and says, “Did you know that this mansion was originally located on the outskirts of London? It was moved here, brick by brick, and reconstructed exactly as it was to preserve the wards that were already intact. The UK HQ for Kingsman is among the most protected agencies in the world because of the blood that’s been shed here. This land is hallowed ground. It is incredibly difficult to get in without an invitation and foreknowledge of the location.”

“What, you’re vampires too now?”

“I am certainly not – fire and vampires don’t mix – but there are branches that have vampiric staff members. Just ask Amelia.”

Eggsy, because he’s Eggsy, says, “Does she sparkle?”

Harry sighs (“A gentleman does not roll his eyes at his conservation partners, Eggsy.” “You’d rather I called them a liar, then?” “Eggsy.”) but he also replies, “I was not aware that the Twilight series was part of your repertoire.”

“Nah, just caught it on the telly one night.”

“In any case,” Harry continues, “some of the founders had a touch of the Fae blood in them. The Courts largely leaves us alone because the bloodlines have grown rather faint, but back then, after all the losses they had suffered, the founders were able to leverage some gifts. The death of a firstborn heir is not looked upon lightly even by immortals.”

With those words, Harry produces a bottle from his pocket and offers it to him. It’s shaped like a tear, curved at the bottom and rounding to a sharp point at the top, but the liquid inside is unlike anything Eggsy has ever seen. He has no name for its color, mostly because it keeps changing, and when he sniffs at the top, the best he can think of is the aftermath of something burnt in the microwave, thick and smoky. It’s warm too, not quite as painful as boiling liquid, but fairly close, a stark contrast to the freezing cold of the depths of Kingsman labs.

Eggsy looks up just in time to see Harry neatly laying his discarded and folded shirt on top of his jacket, so his next question, which was meant to “What is this?” ends up being “What are you doing?”

“Answers, my dear boy; isn’t that what you asked for?” Harry tells him cheerfully, and then wings burst from his bloody shoulders.

* * *

The question is: What happens to a dragon that is shot in the head by a human bullet?

The answer is: Not death.

* * *

Harry has _wings_ , actual enormous leather wings that he mantles around his head like a knight bowing to a king, dark brown like his hair but shot through with amber patches and little streaks of gold. When he flexes them, he doesn’t quite generate a storm but it’s enough for Eggsy to feel the breeze.

Harry is a bloody dragon.

_Harry can fly._

Eggsy is reaching out a hand before he can stop himself. Fortunately, Harry twitches a wing down before he seems to be able to stop himself, so their lapses in judgment meet in the middle, and then they’re both too busy inhaling sharply to maintain their façade.

The wing is weathered and tough, like the hide of a lizard or something that’s had sandpaper taken to it, but it quivers beneath his gentle fingers. It also has some wicked looking sharp claws at the end that Eggsy avoids entirely, since they look sharp enough to gouge out his eyes. And they’re so _big_ – the bottom just misses the floor but the top arches high above Harry’s head. Eggsy could totally see Harry flying with these.

“Flight is more difficult than it looks,” Harry says dryly, apparently answering the question he can read all over Eggsy’s face. “The human body was not made for flight and there are limits to what even our magic can do. My bones are lighter, of course, and there is a reason that the Kingsman training focuses so much on upper body strength. Even so, I cannot maintain flight for very long or very high in this form without risking damage to my wings, shoulders, and respiratory system, so flying as a human is generally agreed upon as a last resort. Thankfully we are dragons and not birds, so getting them wet is not a problem.”

“As a human,” Eggsy repeats faintly, because Harry had said it so matter-of-factly it was like he was saying the sky was blue.

Harry grins at that. Eggsy has to smile back, because he knows this grin; it is the grin Harry wore about tossing out countless embarrassing stories to prove his identity to Merlin, the grin he wore the first time he sparred with Eggsy and knocked him flat in two seconds, the grin he wore when he lazily drifted down to earth during his own bloody funeral.

“Oh, yes, as a human. Would you like to see my other form?”

“I don’t,” Merlin says irritably, making Eggsy yelp. He’d forgotten he was still wearing his glasses. “I’ve seen your pasty arse more than enough, Hart. Please show your protégé how to stop streaming, there’s a good man.”

“That’s Arthur to you,” Harry retorts.

“Like you’d survive one day as Arthur without me,” Merlin replies scornfully, except by then Harry has extracted Eggsy’s glasses and done . . . something, which seems to solve whatever streaming Merlin was moaning about. In either case, Harry tucks them into Eggsy’s pocket with a gentle pat, and Eggsy watches, mesmerized, at the way his wings move around Eggsy, shuffling and twitching like a living thing.

Of course, then Harry starts stripping, so Eggsy goes bright red and whirls around to the sound of Harry’s laughter.

Which, actually, sounds a lot less like Harry and a lot deeper, throatier, louder.

Something nudges against Eggsy’s back, something round and bumpy, and Eggsy freezes as every instinct, cultivated under Dean and honed to a fine edge by Kingsman, goes on red alert. He can feel each heavy and hot exhale by the thing behind him, and it’s so large that no matter how graceful it is, the sound of giant paws moving and giant wings displacing the air makes him nervous.

 _Turn around, my dear boy,_ Harry says.

In his head.

“Bloody hell, you’re a mindreader too?!” 

Eggsy’s panic over the many inappropriate thoughts he’s had, though, dies a quick death when he whirls on his mentor and finds . . . well. A giant bloody dragon in his place. Harry is brown skinned, just his wings, with patches of amber and gleaming little gold streaks through the spikes that ride down his long neck. His tail is thick and muscled, his legs are equipped with more dangerous claws and spikes, and his wings, even folded, could swallow Eggsy whole. His face though – his face is pure Harry, even with an enormous nose, because Eggsy knows those eyes better than he knows his own.

This time, when he touches Harry’s skin, Harry’s entire body shivers to match his wings.

“You’re gorgeous,” Eggsy says in awe, because no other word could describe him.

Harry hums, a low throaty vibration that rings through Eggsy’s hands. _I am not as flashy as some, I’m afraid,_ he admits. _And the gold is too eye-catching for stealth, but it has served me well. There is a reason Kingsman does not have nearly as many planes as one might think we should._

And to hell with stealth, Harry’s never been stealthy a day in his life. “You’re perfect,” he tells Harry firmly. “We’ve got people to do stealth, right? You’re Arthur, you don’t need that. You just need to be yourself.”

_What a ringing endorsement. I am flattered._

In human form, Harry would have delivered it with a dry tone. As a dragon, his eyes are still communicating that dry tone, but the rest of him does not. His tail curls, his legs straighten, and his wings arch and twist like they’re showing off. It could almost be the most convincing show on earth – in Kingsman, classes are required both on how to suppress and convey emotions on demand – but Harry is still purring, and Eggsy knows without saying that he appreciates the vote of confidence.

“So this – this is why you ain’t dead?”

_Mostly. A dragon’s skull is far thicker than a human’s. My eye is a lost cause, or at least my perfect vision is. But the bullet was unable to penetrate my skull, so the damage was limited to blood and eyesight instead of brains and life._

“But Arthur – I mean Chester – ”

Harry’s tail whips through the air. If it was thinner, it might have made a crack; thick as it is, it just makes a sort of heavy, menacing thump as Harry winds his way around Eggsy, supporting him like a living body pillow. He doesn’t snarl, but Eggsy expects that is merely because he’s still petting Harry’s jaw and snarling would involve movement of Harry’s jaws that would dislodge his hands.

 _Our poison was made to take down dragons,_ Harry explains. _It is why it is so effective on humans._

“And every Kingsman is one, yeah?”

_Not every. Some choose to forgo the gift. The transformation is quite painful, and sometimes being a dragon can come with its own vulnerabilities._

“But you chose.”

 _I did._ Harry blinks down at him, calm again. _And now I offer the choice to you._

Eggsy looks at the bottle again. It seems such a small thing to grant such a large change. It could be another test or perhaps even a practical joke, but for the fact that Harry is still wrapped around him like an oversized dog, purring and nudging gently against Eggsy’s hands.

Magic is real. Dragons are real. Harry is real.

“So I’ll be like you then?”

 _Oh I should think not._ Harry’s eyes flicker with amusement. _I imagine you shall be much, much better._

And that deserves its own argument, but Eggsy knows that if he waits any longer he’ll lose his nerve, so he just takes a deep breath, opens the bottle, and tilts the entirety of its contents down his throat. 

It _burns_ going down, so Eggsy coughs, and Harry purrs even more at him even as he winds himself even tighter and brings his wings over Eggsy like a tent of living flesh. The burn fades shortly, but then it starts anew, in his eyes and fingers and toes and back and stomach, and when Eggsy falls to the floor, the only reason he doesn’t start screaming for Merlin is the steady presence of Harry around him.

 _I can do this,_ he tells himself.

 _Oh my dearest darling,_ Harry says, _of course you can._

* * *

“I thought there would be more . . . you know . . . painful skin ripping and less itching.”

_We usually sedate agents for the skin ripping part._

“And how’s Merlin supposed to sedate me when you’re playing guard dragon?”

_He’s not. I will do it._

“How? You ain’t got the fingers to – _gross_ , Harry! Your breath is foul, when were the last time you brushed?!”

_Another breath or two more should do the trick._

“Oi, you stay far away from – HARRY!”

* * *

Eggsy emerges with blue wings that shimmer like gems in the distance, claws as white as snow, and little gold streaks that almost match Harry’s. Lumbering around with four legs, two bulky ones, and one tail that doesn’t want to do anything Eggsy wants it do is really more difficult than Harry made it look, but it’s all worth it when they climb to the roof because it turns out the helicopter pad up was designed for more than helicopters.

Eggsy flies for the first time under the light of a full moon, Harry alternately soaring beside him and pulling off daring aerial maneuvers that Eggsy can’t help but copy.

It’s amazing.

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone! There's a lot of other amazing works going live in the [Kingsman Secret Santa AO3 collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/summer2017kss) and on the [Kingsan Secret Santa tumblr](http://kingsmansecretsanta.tumblr.com/) so go check those out too!
> 
> You can also come chat with me on tumblr, where my blog is currently a mix of "OH MY GOD THE GOLDEN CIRCLE" and "Aw hell another hurricane" with some sprinkles of my other fandoms like Hannibal and Fantastic Beasts. 
> 
> Finally, I did not know that "Harry Hart Being A Drama Queen" was a tag but I'm sure as hell gonna use it ALL THE TIME NOW.


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